


Please Don't Go, I'll Eat You Whole

by Tinybookworm



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Olenna is the grandmother we all love, Reunions, oh so bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 20:21:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11951910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinybookworm/pseuds/Tinybookworm
Summary: Sansa and Margaery are reunited once she is moved to Highgarden after the Purple Wedding. Based off a Tumblr prompt.





	Please Don't Go, I'll Eat You Whole

**Author's Note:**

> The title is based off Breezeblocks by Alt-J and you should all listen it's AMAZING!!
> 
> Anyway, I tried not to be all poetic and sad but that's just how my mind works. Oops. Please leave reviews and kudos! I love them, also feel free to leave me a prompt!
> 
> Margaery deserved the Iron Throne and Sansa deserved Margaery's love.

Highgarden was beautiful but in a different way to Winterfell. Her true home up North was cold and stone but it breathed in the cold air as easily as the gates told she was home. Highgarden on the other hand, was warm and spring and it was wonderful but it tasted hostile. Sansa slumped by her vanity and held her head in her hand, fingers abseiling through her hair as she closed her eyes. Littlefinger had brought her here; he kept opening doors for her down a never ending corridor of false hopes. ‘Here’ he says as plays the gentleman, ‘how about this one?’. Sansa finds it irritating and she hears the wolves call her home. But she sits, in her prison of flowers by the seashore.

Her room is not unwelcoming and is actually very beautiful, not unlike her room in Kingslanding. Yet Sansa finds it more pastel and filled with beautiful flowers, with French doors leading onto a shallow balcony facing the gardens. Sansa stands and traces the roses engraved onto her bedposts; fingers dancing around the wooden petals painted in gold and scratching lightly down the stalk. She feels as though she is living in a novel, a story of beautiful women living in houses abroad and finding love. But that is not her.

The Tyrells are not horrible people, nor are they rude or, gods forbid, particularly loyal to the Lannisters. In fact, she has found her stay here to be delightful; Lady Olenna invites her to have afternoon tea frequently and Loras’ jousting tournaments are not as violent as she once remembered. She traces the Rose again and allows herself thirty seconds to think about Margaery. Enough. The bird trapped in her ribcage flutters and sings mournfully for the other woman. Sansa thinks how songbirds in a pie would be delicious.

***

Lady Olenna announces at tea one day that Margaery will be visiting within the upcoming days and yet, she does not act as though she has given Sansa the greatest gift she could ever ask for. Olenna simply sips her tea and says something snark to the serving boy whilst Sansa jumps with Dolphins. Olenna asks for more cheese whilst Sansa rides a stallion over an open field, faster than ever before: smiling(!) with nothing but the wind to greet her. The wind, and Margery. Sansa smiles into her Lemon cake as she leans back into the Baby’s Breath as they catch her and lay her down, like small white handmaidens. The flowers curl her hair and tighten her corset in a way that Margery will like.

Looking down with a blush, Sansa asks for more tea.

—

Sansa watches from her window as Margery’s carriage draws into Highgarden and she cannot help the smile that decorates her cheeks. ‘Play it cool Sansa’ the Wolf inside her warns, and she must not forget her wolf, ever, so she listens. Nevertheless, Sansa quickens her pace as she glides towards the throne room. She is at a small jog as she weaves through servants like a child chasing a butterfly, she sprints towards the end of the corridor where the doors burst open as if they were waiting only for her arrival and then she sees Her and everything is still. Everything that was once fast and busy is no more. The people around her fade away and the room fills with a heavenly light from the stained glass window above them, illuminating Margaery as Sansa sees her: angelic. It’s clique but to Sansa it is true. Margaery smiles at her and the Tulips swoon. Margery smiles at her and the eight foot sunflowers bow. Margery smiles at her and the Roses blush. But Sansa walks on, a soft smile on her face that has never left since she heard Margery was coming home- Littlefinger is forgotten, and Sansa shrinks him smaller than a flea; stepping on him as she walks towards Margaery. The older woman reaches out, and Sansa floats into her embrace.  
“My sweet thing,” Margaery sighs. “I have missed you so,”  
Sansa hums and the songbird taps against her ribs and spins round like a wind wheel in a heavy gust. It thuds, thuds, thuds against her chest trying to break free. It wants Margaery and she is here. Sansa feels content, for the first time in a long while.

Then Margaery releases her and neither women have stopped beaming. The people return and so does the noise and the rush and before she can understand, some other man is pawing at Margaery.   
“What? No!” Sansa shouts but she does not mean to. She wants to sound the air siren, but all her face can do is widen her eyes in shock horror. Margery remains as composed as every beautiful sculpture in soft marble.  
“Is that quite urgent?” Margaery asks with annoyance sewed through her voice, (Sansa now recognises the serving boy had been inqiuring about a possible menu change for tonights feast) “my dear friend and I have just been reunited,”  
Sansa notes the way ‘friend’ sounds odd like reading a newspaper upside down. After confirmation of urgency from the chef, Margery leaves her, with a promise of a visit later that evening: after the feast.

—

A knock on her door that evening sends the songbird flapping around again and in walks Margaery who is glowing around the candle light in Sansa’s room. Sansa feels the breeze (soft and calming) around her and she begs for it to leave the candles alight. To allow her to see Margery in this glow for as long as she is allowed. She prays to the Old Gods and the New for it and they grant her request, they must think she has earned it. Margaery smiles as if she can hear her thoughts.  
“It is so lovely to see you again,” The Tyrell joins her on the balcony and grasps her hands around her own. Sansa notes how they are warm and it matches the feeling low in her belly. “You look beautiful, Sansa, really. The moonlight at Highgarden is kind to you,”   
Sansa looks up at the moon and the moon winks back. A spotlight upon her own Shakespaerian play, she thinks, as she looks back at Margery.  
“Don’t leave again,” and it isn’t a beg, but it might as well have been. “Please,”  
Margaery says nothing. Instead, she releases Sansa’s hand and catches a rose from the bush that has climbed up the wall to watch them and handed it to Sansa.  
“We both know we don’t live in the kind of world where I can make such lovely promises as those,” Margaery says and Sansa knows she is right, as she always is. But Sansa longs to be with her so much she has no room in her heart for wisdom. “There are fates worse than confinement in Highgarden. Littlefinger is a weasel but there is no bad judgement in your move on his part,”  
Sansa twirls the rose in her fingers as the older woman speaks. The petals feel soft in her fingers like the velvet on her favourite dress. She squeezes Margaery’s hand as their kite is caught in a tree and they must save it.  
So Sansa kisses her; freely, wildly, desperately. She frees the kite herself and lets it play in the wind. In this world, Margaery comes back and there are no more talks of thrones in this kingdom come. Margaery kisses her back and her songbird soars.


End file.
